


mano a mano

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: Brad Claire Secret Santa, F/M, Secret Santa, Touch, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: chapter 1: Claire makes a few mistakes.chapter 2: Claire runs some tests.
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 22
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfsoursaffitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsoursaffitz/gifts).



> thanks to halfsoursaffitz for the prompt, which was “touch.” this kind of took on a life of its own – I hope you like it!
> 
> as always, this is 100% fiction.

Claire’s not sure exactly who shoulders the blame for this.

It’s usually easy, and convenient, to blame Brad. He’s tall and big and loud and he makes a solid target, visible throughout the entire kitchen. Things stick to him. So maybe she can blame him.

But it’s also Hunzi’s fault. Hunzi’s editing turned the complete and total breakdown of sourdoughnuts into something that has inexplicably taken on a life of its own. Hunzi can be blamed for part of this, too. He enjoys his work entirely too much not to be a terrible person, so it’s probably what he deserves.

She’s not sure how much of the blame to split between Duckor and the creative team, but it has to be a hefty dose. One of them thought of this. One of them thought it up, realized it was a _great_ idea, and got it approved. Didn’t HR have something to say about it? – didn’t _anyone_ realize it was a bad idea?

She refuses to accept that at least a tiny bit of the blame is her own.

(Because when the idea was pitched, after all, she _did_ agree to it. That was her first mistake.)

Which is how she has ended up here today. At her regular station, next to Brad, making a batch of raspberry twist brioche. All in all, that’s not abnormal.

It would be perfectly normal if not for the fact that her right hand and his left hand are handcuffed together.

* * *

Objectively, it’s a clever idea. It combines actual cooking, with the chemistry she can’t deny they have, with the charm of a romcom. Shades of Back-To-Back Chef, along with the zany energy of Sourdoughnuts. How could it go wrong?

That’s why she said _yes_ in the first place. It seemed like a funny idea. And she’s used to Brad’s constant, loud, boisterous presence. He hangs around her station so much anyway. So she’d thought _Well, it can’t be so bad._

It’s _so much worse_.

Because usually, she can walk away, take a breath, find an excuse to take a step back and regain her equilibrium. But now? Now they’re stuck together, and it’s just constant _touching_.

Her nerves are frazzled from the constant touching. It’s not like they never touch; the kitchen’s a tactile place, and a hand on the arm, fingers brushing over a mixer, it’s all fairly normal. And if she gets a quick, soft, hot thrill at the touch of his fingers on her arm, well, then that’s just how it is and it’s fine. Even if she’d never, ever admit it out loud.

But now they’re stuck together, and it’s been a non-stop pattern of _Oops_ and _Sorry_ as their hands brush and bump and their elbows touch and she can feel his breath on her skin half the time and it almost feels like they’re hugging and _who ever thought this was a good idea?_

Well, Hunzi did. Hunzi is enjoying this, because he is a bad person. He’s been silently cracking up behind the camera every other second, ignoring the death glares Claire’s been sending him.

And because Hunzi is a bad person, he grins at them brightly. “So, Claire, how’s this going so far for you?”

“This is a terrible idea,” she informs the camera with a wry smile, hoping it’s not painfully obvious to Hunzi, the camera, and the world in general exactly how flustered she feels. “I regret everything. And I hate you.”

“Aw, _c’mon_ , Claire!” Brad grins, tossing his hands (which ends up yanking hers, which makes her yelp in surprise, which makes Hunzi laugh so hard his eyes water). “Oh, sorry. But c’mon! We’re a real _team_ here! Y’know, like in that one movie, what’s it, the one with – ah, who’s that guy, the one who was in _The Matrix_ –”

She has absolutely, positively no earthly idea what he’s talking about. At all. And she would explain this fact, but she’s on the last fraction of a percent of her last nerve, so she just smiles tersely at the camera and tries to decide who, among the Test Kitchen staff, would help her hurt Hunzi.

* * *

In the grand scheme of things, the video’s going relatively well. They haven’t broken anything yet, the yeast is proofing well, and it seems like they might actually successfully bake a loaf of bread on the first try this time, which would be a real victory.

On a personal level, though, Claire’s a mess by the end of day 1.

Even though they get uncuffed at breaks, giving her some amount of relief, it’s just wearing. She feels on edge, can’t get herself grounded. Brad’s a lot to deal with. He’s big and loud and she likes having him around – she really, really does – but this entire situation is just overwhelming. It’s like an itch she can’t scratch, except this particular itch is one that she’s been sternly telling herself isn’t there for longer than she cares to admit.

But – surprisingly – it’s not _bad_ , necessarily. It’s just too much to deal with. Because she’s so close to his face, and every time she glances up she sees those sparkling blue eyes, and his hands are so big and strong and warm, and she’s somewhere between telling him to back off and grabbing his face to kiss him senseless.

It’s chaos – utter chaos – and Claire and chaos have a difficult relationship.

* * *

Claire’s job necessitates the ability to recognize her mistakes. Unsurprisingly, this ability is not confined to her culinary work.

When she reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, she doesn’t realize it’s her right hand until she feels the tug of handcuffs dragging him along with her, and then his hand is brushing her neck and her whole body goes hot.

She freezes, mumbling _Sorry_. Hunzi’s still laughing, and a glance at Brad shows that he’s looking sheepish.

It was definitely a mistake.

She ignores the lingering warmth of his hand on her skin, and at the next break, she tugs her hair back into a messy bun, using two elastics to secure it.

Just in case.

* * *

Hunzi finally calls a wrap for the day and obligingly unlocks the cuffs. Claire rubs her wrist with a rueful sigh. “Oh, _finally_.”

“Jeez, Claire. Gonna take it personally.” Brad grins at her cheekily, and maybe it’s just the lingering aftereffect of being literally chained to him for an entire day, but she feels warm all over.

(It might also be the fact that she has had more than a few unprofessional about his hands, and today she has spent literal hours watching them, up close and personal.)

“Oh, come on.” She leans on the counter, quirking an eyebrow. “Even _you_ have to admit this is a little much.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But it’s kinda fun.”

“ _Fun?_ ”

“Besides, this is all your fault,” Brad explains breezily, and Claire stares at him accusingly.

“Excuse me?”

“It is!” He points at her. “You get all tense and crazy when you’re stressed.”

“I do _not_ –”

“Remember Starbursts? Remember those fuckin’ doughnuts?” He shrugs. “So what’d they do with pies? They threw in a time crunch, made us run around all frantic, then sent us all the way to fuckin’ Denver. And now they’re trying to drive us crazy again.”

Claire stares at him. “No way.”

“It ain’t no accident, Claire. They know you’re pure gold when you get stressed.” He gestures wildly with his hands. “Claire, plus some kinda cooking, plus some kinda stressful catch on the situation? That’s _entertainment!”_

Her mouth opens. “Are you kidding me?”

“You think I’m wrong?”

Claire blinks, tries to say something, but sighs. He’s right. “Well, then what about you? Why are you stuck in this, too? You’re never stressed.”

“What else?” He leans over the counter, smiling at her on her own level. “I’m obviously here to keep you balanced.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” Brad stands up straight, and is she wrong, or is there something in his eyes – “You and me? We’re the dream team, Saffitz.”

She’s blushing as he walks off whistling, and Claire wonders how many more days she can expect this to continue.

* * *

Claire makes another mistake: she forgets that ignorance is bliss.

* * *

During a break on day 2, she’s sifting raspberry powder when Hunzi leans back against the stove across from her, grinning. “Come on, Claire. It’s not _that_ bad.”

She glares at him, but decides to let it go. For now. Just this once. “I guess you’re right.”

“It’s not like we were gonna stick Brad with anyone else.” She changes her mind. She wants to hurt Hunzi again. “But relax, this is actually going fine. You and Brad are champs.”

She snaps the lid back on the raspberry powder. “I _will_ give you credit for the handcuffs. I was afraid they’d pinch, but honestly, they’re not that bad.”

Hunzi coughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh – about that.”

She gets a terrible feeling, a dull ache all knotted up somewhere between her ribcage and her throat, determined to ruin her life. “What?”

He hesitates. “Well –”

“ _Hunzi_.”

He smiles sheepishly at her. “Well, we were _gonna_ just use regular police cuffs. But those are metal, and there’s no way you could have worn those for so long without getting hurt.”

The terrible feeling gets worse. “So?”

“So we found padded cuffs that looked like the real thing. We sent one of the interns to get them at a sex shop.”

Hunzi gets called over to check the mics, leaving Claire staring at her container of raspberry powder, trying very hard not to process the fact that she and Brad have been wearing something specifically designed for couples engaged in adventurous sexual intercourse (and isn’t _that_ just one more thing she doesn’t need to think about while she’s right next to Brad for hours).

And sure enough, Brad’s voice rings out across the kitchen. “Hey, ready to roll, Claire? Come on! We gotta get hitched again!”

She doesn’t know what cosmic deity she offended in a past life, but she needs to figure it out immediately and light a candle. And maybe smudge with sage.

And then maybe just change her name and move to another country.

* * *

Then she makes one more mistake: she thinks _Well, at least it can’t get any worse._

* * *

“All right, I think that’s a wrap for today! Nice job.” Hunzi waves to the rest of the crew. “Okay. Kev, go ahead and unlock ‘em.”

There’s a long silence.

Claire’s terrible feeling has progressed into full-blown giddy dread and it’s slowly climbing up her esophagus to come and have a talk with her.

Finally, hearing no answer, Hunzi look around. “Where’s Kevin?”

One of the interns leans in from the nearby office. “Kevin? He left. He finished up half an hour ago.”

Hunzi’s eyes go wide. “I gave him the key.”

(Claire Saffitz has finally learned her lesson: just give up, because it can always get worse.)

* * *

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, it finally occurs to Claire to wonder – is this the intern who was sent to the sex shop on their behalf?

She decides not to ask.

* * *

Kevin, it turns out, will be back in about half an hour. He’s very sorry.

(His text also pleads with Hunzi not to let Claire murder him, but Hunzi decides not to share that particular detail.)

“Well, them’s the breaks, I guess.” Brad seems to be taking the optimistic view, which surprises no one.

Claire runs her free hand through her hair, but then stops, looking up at him hopefully. “Wait, don’t you have your tools? Can you break these?”

Brad rattles them experimentally and shakes his head. “I don’t have anything that’ll break this shit, not without putting our hands in serious jeopardy. And even if I did, you really wanna spend the night with half a broken handcuff on your wrist like some kinda escaped convict?”

She sighs ruefully. “I guess not.”

“C’mon.” He tugs the chain lightly, pulling her hand. “There’s cold brew in the reach-in. At least we can relax.”

* * *

They end up in the conference room, because who knew it was so hard to find somewhere quiet at Bon Appétit where they could comfortably sit down within bondage cuff radius?

Claire sighs and takes a long sip of her coffee. Brad, beside her, chuckles. “Better?”

“For now.” She leans her head back against the couch cushions, smiling at him wryly. “Why aren’t you madder about this?”

“About what?”

“About _what?_ Brad, we’re stuck here!” She waves their chained wrists in demonstration. “Two days, and now we’re stuck here until the key comes back.”

“I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “Could be worse.”

The words that Claire has come to consider the harbinger of doom sound breezy and natural coming out of his mouth. Like he’s not even worried. Like _everything is fine_.

“What do you mean?”

He seems to be avoiding her gaze now, and Claire knows Brad well enough to know when he’s only trying to be casual. “Well – y’know –”

“What?”

There’s a slight pause, and she sees him look down at their linked hands. He traces his fingers over her palm with surprising gentleness, and his voice is soft, almost apologetic.

“Well, it’s you. I always like being with you.”

His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin of her wrist for the hundredth time today, and she can’t hide the shiver that runs through her.

But then Claire looks up at him, and the look on his face makes her stop short. His face is sincere, his eyes keen and bright and bold.

And it hits her like a lightning bolt – he feels _exactly the same way she does_.

“Brad?”

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t know what she’s trying to say, but it doesn’t matter. She licks her lips reflexively, watching his eyes drop to her mouth, and heat blossoms under her skin. And then she takes a breath and she’s reaching for him just as he’s reaching for her and it’s pure electricity. All the crackling, simmering tension of the past few days just catches _fire_.

She doesn’t know how but it’s like they were _made_ for kissing each other. They kiss like they do everything else, reckless and confused and challenging like it’s all just one endless argument. He catches her bottom lip between his teeth and she groans into his mouth and their cuffed hands are trapped between them and her whole body is unbearably hot.

Before she knows what’s happening, she’s halfway in his lap, her free hand buried in his hair. If she thought being _next_ to him for two days was overwhelming, this – his tongue stroking over hers, the rasp of his stubble on her skin, his nimble fingers flirting with the hem of her shirt to tease her skin underneath – is driving her insane.

“Fuckin’ hell, Claire,” he gasps, dragging his mouth over the line of her jaw, nipping her ear. “You got any _idea_ how much I been thinking about doing this –”

“Oh yeah?” She settles fully into his lap, shivering as she feels the heat and pressure of him firmly between her legs. “I’ve been handcuffed to you for two days now.”

“Fuckin’ _torture_.” He groans, deep and throaty, as she lets her body sink into his. There’s no way he got so hard from just this. Apparently she’s not the only one who’s been enduring two days of extended, painfully slow foreplay. “Just wanted to grab you and drag you outta there, Claire.”

Claire rolls her hips against his, slow and deliberate and dirty, and he swears against her neck. She swallows hard. “You want to show me?”

He tugs her closer with a growl. “You asked for it.”

* * *

Claire and Brad have disappeared – not that Hunzi can blame them; being in front of the camera all day is wearing, even for professionals like them – so he texts them to let them know that the key is here and they’re moments away from blissful freedom.

They come hurrying into test kitchen, and Hunzi can’t help but notice they both look a lot less stressed than they did earlier. Claire no longer looks like she’s considering homicide; she’s actually _smiling_ , and Brad, who’s more or less always in a good mood, looks like the cat that got the cream.

“It’s about _time_ ,” Brad says cheerfully, holding up their joined wrists for Hunzi to unlock them.

They take off as soon as they’re free, and it’s not until they’re across the kitchen that Hunzi – who has a lot of other things to think about, thank you very much – processes a few things.

Not only was Claire smiling (far beyond ‘good pastry day’ levels), but she was flushed, like she’d just been working out. Her hair certainly hadn’t been that messy earlier this afternoon. And Brad’s shirt definitely hadn’t been misbuttoned before now.

Hunzi lets out a chuckle.

_Well then._

* * *

On Day 3 of raspberry swirl brioche, Claire and Brad walk into the kitchen together. Almost half an hour late.

Hunzi just hides a smile.

* * *

Sometimes being an intern is interesting. How many other people get to make an errand run to a sex shop for a brioche video?

Other times, though, it’s boring. Inventory is one of those times.

After the raspberry brioche wrap-up, Chad is sorting through equipment, and he realizes – the handcuffs are missing. They’re nowhere to be found in the kitchen. They’re not in storage. He spends an inordinate amount of time checking the endless cabinets of the food prep and photography stations, but nope, no sign of them.

On the one hand, they were bought with BA’s money, so technically they belong to the company. But on the other hand, Chad doesn’t particularly want to send a company-wide memo asking everyone to keep an eye out for padded bondage cuffs.

So he decides to just ignore it and hope no one asks questions.

* * *

(Apparently her luck is changing: Claire didn’t make any mistakes when she grabbed the handcuffs and slipped them into her pocket on the way out of the kitchen.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I intend to write this? no. but sometimes these things happen.

Claire stole the handcuffs as a joke.

Bondage cuffs aren’t really typical in terms of nostalgic souvenirs, but given that she and Brad were wearing these when he first got his hand up her shirt and she made the discovery that Brad doesn’t wear underwear, it seems appropriate.

Maybe she should have them put in a shadowbox. _Our First Sex Cuffs._ Wouldn’t that look perfect next to her living room bookshelves?

But they make her smile and blush, so it’s fine.

It’s not like she actually wants to _use_ them.

* * *

(Okay, but here’s the thing: sometimes she thinks about it.)

Not that sex with Brad is ever lacking, of course. Quite the contrary. She’s had a number of fantasies about him in the past, and as it turns out, the giant, scruffy goofball is some kind of sexual virtuoso. He’s pinned her to the bed with those muscular arms she’s always lusted over. He’s wrapped her legs around his hips as he pins her back against the shower wall. He’s pressed her legs apart and slid inside her slowly, heavy, stretching her deep and aching because he really is just _so. big._ And the beard burn on her inner thighs is a constant reminder of exactly how much time he’s spent with his face between her legs.

No, when it comes to the bedroom (and the couch) (and the kitchen counters) (and the shower) (and that one time in the front seat of his car that she still blushes to remember), Brad Leone is an A+ genius of the highest order, and she has zero complaints.

And more than anything, it’s _fun_ , being with him.

A part of her had worried that maybe something would change if they ever got together, that they’d be strained or tense or irritable or she couldn’t deal with his personality outside the kitchen as well as in. But the truth is quite the opposite: Brad is always Brad. He knows her better than anyone. He knows when she needs space, when she needs him to brush her hair back and kiss her forehead, and when she needs to tackle him on the couch and straddle his hips and unbutton his shirt with impatient hands. He still asks her oddball questions and defers to her expertise on topics like baking and history and how to pronounce words. And he still beams with pride when she praises his work, just like she does when he praises hers.

Being with Brad is just as easy as working with Brad, except now she also gets to have sex with him. And it’s thoroughly enjoyable.

She can’t help but wonder, though.

He’s _so_ big, and so strong, and even though he always takes care of her in every setting, Claire wants to know what it takes to get that control to snap. Just how overwhelming it can be.

She wants to know what it really takes to get Brad to fuck her brains out.

So she hides away the cuffs and decides she’ll deal with them later.

* * *

She isn’t really sure how to bring it up, but one night they’re watching TV on the couch, and she’s feeling too comfy to move, so she uses her sweetest, softest, most pathetic voice to ask him to grab her a pair of socks.

He grins and does it – of course he does – and she hears her dresser drawer open and shut, and then she hears him whistle.

He walks back into the living room a moment later, tosses a pair of socks at her, and holds up the cuffs with a grin. “Well, _well_. You little thief.”

She scoffs. “Like you wouldn’t have stolen them.”

“Of course I would, Claire. _Duh._ ” He flops back down onto the couch beside her, turning the cuffs over in his hands. “Still, I’m impressed. You’re usually so well-behaved.”

“Well, I have a real soft spot for those.”

“Mmm. Me too.” The grin he shoots her can only be described as a leer, and she knows he’s thinking about their frantic few minutes on the conference room couch, which ended up being a prelude to an exhausting night. “Some good memories.”

“Did you know they came from a sex shop?”

His eyes go wide for a moment, and he looks back down at the cuffs. “You’re – you’re fucking with me, right?”

“Hunzi told me they needed something padded so we wouldn’t hurt ourselves.”

Brad gapes at her. “You’re saying we made an entire fuckin’ video wearing sex cuffs, and no one _told_ me?”

She nods.

“So you stole _sex cuffs_ from work? Shit, Claire, you’re a wild thing.”

She laughs at that. “Oh, sure. Wild. That’s me.”

“Hey, if the shoe fits, lady.”

He sets them on the coffee table, and she wonders if maybe that’s the end of it, but as usual, Brad’s got a pretty good sense of when she wants something.

“So – what are we talkin’ here, Claire?” He fixes her with a keen look, and behind the mirth, she can tell, he’s really asking. “These a museum piece? Or you looking to take ‘em for a spin?”

Claire hesitates. Because after all of this, after all her imagining and fantasizing, it still just feels too intimate to say out loud.

He can read her hesitation – of _course_ he can – and he squeezes her shoulder gently. “Hey, Claire. C’mon. It’s me. Whatever you want, I’m cool with it.”

She lets out a breath. “Right.”

“So you can tell me, Claire. Do you want to give ‘em a shot?”

He doesn’t sound embarrassed, or skeptical, or whatever she was worried. If anything, he just sounds curious. And Claire knows she’s not the only one who never thought of herself as the let’s-use-the-cuffs-tonight type.

But he’s Brad, and if there’s anyone in the world she trusts –

“Yeah, I – I want to try it.”

It feels like a profound confession. It _is_. And he seems to feel it, too; his eyes are warm as he smiles at her, because he knows how much it’s taken her to get this comfortable with him.

And a part of her is thinking about the logistics, because Claire is still Claire even when the topic is using handcuffs in bed with Brad, and somehow, details can make anything seem un-sexy. She’s also currently wrapped up in sweats and two blankets and fuzzy socks, there’s a bowl of popcorn with powdered kimchi and sauerkraut nearby. Delicious, but not really part of a sexy mood.

“We don’t, you know. Not, like, right this second. We’ll find the right time.” He tugs her against his side. “You’re all bundled up, ah, what’s it called? – what’s the thing, ah – cocoon! That’s it. You got your little blanket cocoon here. Some other time.”

Claire burrows against him in warm, comfortable satisfaction.

Brad’s the _best_.

* * *

(Tests are a crucial step in the cooking process. Why over-salt an entire batch of caramel? Test the salt on a small bit, then adjust the whole batch accordingly.

A limited test is the way to go.)

* * *

The first time Claire works up the nerve to pull out the handcuffs, she asks Brad if they can just try something, just a little thing, just briefly.

“I just want to know what they feel like,” she explains, and he takes the cuffs, nodding slowly.

“Okay, let’s try ‘em. What do you wanna do?”

After thinking it over for a moment, Claire decides to settle for a measured test of arousal.

“Maybe – just – like this?” She puts her hands behind her back, but then pauses. “You have the key, right?”

He holds it up. “Gotcha covered, babe. You’re not getting Kevin’d.”

Brad locks the cuffs in place, his hands gentle on her wrists, and she tugs experimentally. Sure enough, she’s officially tied up.

Well.

 _This_ is an interesting feeling.

“Now what?”

Brad sounds unsure, and she decides, well, now or never, right?

“Kiss me.”

He obeys without hesitation, cupping her cheek in one big hand, his mouth slow and careful on hers.

It starts gentle, but it doesn’t stay that way.

He coaxes her lips apart and deepens the kiss. It’s slow and deep and dirty, the kind of kiss that makes her toes curl. And it’s always good.

But like this?

She’s usually a more active participant; Brad kisses her overwhelmingly, like he does everything else, and she reacts to him on pure instinct. But right now, she’s helpless, her hands twitching in frustration because she can’t _touch_ him.

She wants. She _wants_. She wants to bury her hands in his hair, rake her fingers over his back, pull him close and wrap her body around him to get the kind of leverage that gives her control, but she can’t. She clenches her fists in desperation, whimpering low and needy in the back of her throat, trying to push her hips against him, just anything, _anything_ to get the friction she needs.

She can feel him grinning into the kiss. He knows he’s in control. He knows what she wants.

Her back arches and he slides his hands over her ass, pulling her even closer. Arousal floods her body, thick and hot, simmering in her veins and pooling between her legs and holy _shit_ –

Claire finally has to pull away to breathe. Her heart is hammering in her chest. “Okay,” she gasps. “Okay.”

Brad blinks, trying to catch his breath. “Holy _shit_ , Claire.”

“Yeah.”

“Was that –”

“Yeah.”

“ _Whoa._ ”

“Take them off,” she pleads. They can deal with it later. Right now she just needs to get her hands on him because she has absolutely never gotten this turned on, this fast, from just a kiss.

He frees her hands, tosses the cuffs aside, and before he can do anything else, she’s pulling him down to kiss him soundly, the message clear. _Right now_.

He slides his hands over her ass to grip her thighs, lifting her up against him like it’s nothing. Claire wraps her legs around his waist, groaning at the tight pressure of him between her legs.

“Time for bed,” he murmurs into her ear, carrying her down the hallway to her bedroom.

* * *

Later, as they’re tangled in the sheets, sweaty and panting, Claire decides that the limited test was a decided success.

* * *

They’re in the test kitchen a few days later, unpacking a case of dairy products together, when Brad finally brings it up.

“I never realized you wanted to – you know.” He shrugs, waving a brick of salted butter vaguely. “With the handcuffs.”

“Honestly, neither did I.” Her cheeks flush, but she soldiers on. This is _Brad_. If there’s anyone she can tell anything to, it’s him. “I never have, I mean. Before.”

He sits back on the floor, two little piles of butter and cheese in front of him. “But now you like it? I mean, seemed that way.”

 _You like it_. That’s an understatement. After that first limited test, Claire stripped off his clothes, pinned him to the bed, and rode him fast and hard until she fell apart, his hands gripping her thighs, his hips bucking wildly against her.

“I was just – I dunno, surprised,” he adds hastily, like he’s worried she won’t understand. “But I’m game, as long as you’re comfortable with it.”

He’s not quite looking at her, though. And given that Brad spends about ninety percent of his time looking at her with a gaze that she can only describe as _adoring_ , Claire’s not fooled.

“What?” He shrugs, but she’s not in the mood to let him off the hook, so she sets down a block of Vampire Slayer cheddar and puts a hand on his arm. “Brad, what is it?”

“I just – I don’t wanna hurt you, you know? You’re so little. And I’m a big guy.” She can’t quite smother the smug grin at that, and he chuckles, some of the tension deflating. “Okay, not like that. Well, not _just_ like that.”

He wouldn’t be Brad if he weren’t protective.

She shrugs. “I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

His face softens at that, his eyes bright, and he doesn’t say anything, but she knows. He may never ask for validation, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. And she _does_ trust him.

When he finally meets her eyes again, she thinks maybe she needs to emphasize this. “I wouldn’t even want to try it if I didn’t trust you.”

He grins at her, wide and beaming and open.

“You and me, Half-Sour.” He pokes her arm, drawing a chuckle from her. “Fuckin’ dream team, right here.”

* * *

(After a successful test and post-test analysis, it’s time to commit to the full experience.)

* * *

The first time she gets him to agree to handcuffing her to the bed, he spends an absurd amount of time checking the cuffs, making sure he hasn’t accidentally cut off her circulation. He hasn’t – not even close – but he’s overly-thorough, and that’s just who he is.

She’d almost wondered if this was a bad idea, and lying here, arms above her head, naked, she’s half a second away from saying _Never mind, forget it, let’s just have normal sex_.

But then he sits back, stripping off his t-shirt, and the look on his face sends a flood of wetness between her legs.

He looks _smug_.

He lets his gaze sweep over her slowly, and Claire bites her lip, feeling the hot flush creeping across her chest. Brad’s looking at her like he’s starving. And she’s dessert.

“You’re really onto something with this,” he says. His voice is already rough, darker than usual. “Fuck, Claire. Look at you. So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He leans over to kiss her lightly on the lips, brushing her arm gently with one hand. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

She nods, her hair rustling against the pillow.

He trails soft, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, dragging his tongue over the notch in her collarbone. Claire squirms, sucking in a sharp breath. He’s taking his time. Letting her process. Giving her time to adjust.

The thought _Brad really is the best_ drifts across her mind, almost lazily, even as she shivers under the slow, torturous heat of his touch.

He sucks one nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers. Claire tenses, pulling involuntarily at the cuffs as a long, high-pitched moan escapes her.

Brad pauses, ever aware. “Is that okay?”

She licks her lips, trying to catch her breath. “Yeah.”

“That’s – it’s good? Feels good?”

She nods, breathless. She doesn’t have words for it. Everything is _more_. It’s all so much more vivid, every bit of arousal coursing through her veins like pure liquid fire, and even the faintest touch is setting her already-sensitized skin alight, sending wet heat straight between her legs.

He drags careful fingertips down her sternum, between her breasts, watching with rapt attention as goosebumps raise in the wake of his touch.

It’s more vulnerable than Claire likes to feel, lying here, waiting for someone else to make decisions for her. But Brad’s _very sensitive_. He always knows exactly how she’s feeling. And now that he knows he’s completely and totally in control, he’s focused on nothing else, just her body and the way it reacts to him.

 _I may not survive this_.

The first touch of his fingers between her legs, dipping inside her teasingly, makes her shiver and pull helplessly at her restraints. She can’t help it; she clenches around his fingers, her thighs trembling as he presses them apart. Claire twists against the cuffs, biting her lip, her back arching. Smug bastard. She can usually get him to hurry up when she’s impatient, but now, he’s seeing just how much he can take his time. And if she wants something, she’s going to have to beg.

“Brad – Brad, _please_ –”

“Oh, c’mon, Claire,” he whispers, dragging his tongue over her jaw, letting his stubble graze her pale neck. “You know I like to play with my food.”

She shuts her eyes, digging her heels into the mattress, whimpering softly.

Closing her eyes is a brief reprieve, but now she’s even more hyper-aware of him. His breath is hot and humid on her tingling skin, and she can feel him trailing down her body, barely touching her, just brushing a few soft kisses to her shoulder, her breasts, her stomach, and her breath catches in anticipation.

She bites her lip, and finally she just can’t take it anymore. “ _Brad_ –”

She feels the rasp of his beard scraping her thigh and then his mouth is on her, hot and patient and _ruinous_.

(How many times did she fantasize about that mouth of his before she found out, firsthand, just how _talented_ it is?)

He teases her clit with his tongue, curling his fingers inside her. He’s good at this. He’s always been good at this.

But now, instead of burying her fingers in his hair and tugging him to where she wants him, Claire can’t do anything but squirm and writhe under him, her breath hitching.

She’s keyed up and impatient and desperate, and she finally twists away, gasping. “Brad – Brad, just – too much, too much –”

He immediately stops, his body tensing against hers, and he crawls up the bed to touch her face. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just – I just – need to breathe.” She shuts her eyes, drawing in a long breath through her nose. She’s trembling, her skin hot and slick with sweat. And the word _overwhelming_ doesn’t even come close to describing this.

He curls up beside her as she catches her breath, and even though she can feel him pressing against her thigh, hard and hot, he just brushes a gentle hand over her stomach. It’s a comforting touch, not a sexual one, and not for the first time, Claire wonders what she possibly did right to deserve this man in her life.

Her heart finally stops pounding in her ears, and she takes in a long breath, flexing her fingers. Brad looks down at her, his hand slowing to a pause on her skin. “You good?”

“Yeah.” She swallows, licking her lips, watching his eyes go dark as he focuses on her mouth. “Round two?”

“Two? Oh, Claire. Ain’t even finished round one yet.”

He kisses her again, and it’s a teasing kiss. It’s the kind of kiss he gives her in the evening, when he finds her in the kitchen, fussing over what to pull out for dinner, and he whispers something like _not hungry for that, Claire_ and slides his hands over her hips and backs her up against the wall and then she reaches for the buttons of his shirt and he tugs her skirt up and gets a hand under it and sometimes they don’t make it to the bedroom.

Brad pulls away long enough to tug off his jeans, and she can’t take her eyes off him, already hard and thick and ready for her.

He settles between her legs, the tip of him brushing her wetness, and he pauses, searching her eyes, but she shivers and hums, nodding. She’s beyond wet, soaked and aching for him.

When he finally, _finally_ slides inside her with a deep groan, Claire lets out a long, shuddering breath. He’s moving slowly, always careful with her, and it’s good (it’s so good, he’s so big and thick and just _good_ ) but she wants more, and he’s gritting his teeth and she just _needs_ –

“Brad,” she gasps. “ _Fuck me_.”

She feels him stiffen in surprise, but her plea must be what he needs.

He thrusts into her, and her eyes roll back, her back arching, her thighs tightening around his waist.

It’s _rough_.

It’s rough and unsteady and he’s as out of control as she is, bracing himself against the headboard over her. He fucks her hard and fast and rough and she’s so keyed up, so desperate, she knows she’s close.

“Come on, Claire,” he growls into her ear, low and rough, and that’s all she needs.

She comes hard, letting out a long, wordless cry, her legs tightening around his waist, and it just takes one more rough thrust before he follows, pressing her thighs wider as he spills inside of her with a groan.

By the time the orgasm-induced fog clears from her mind, Brad’s managed to unlock her wrists and toss the handcuffs aside somewhere.

He kisses the inside of her wrists, nuzzling her soft skin. “You’re amazing, Claire. Fuckin’ _incredible_.”

“Not so bad yourself,” she murmurs. She wants to touch him, but her body doesn’t want to move. Her muscles are liquid, her whole body warm and loose and sinking into the mattress.

“Hey, don’t drift off just yet.” He shakes her shoulder gently. “C’mon, babe. Gotta get you cleaned up.”

She whines softly but lets him drag her up and out of bed.

* * *

By the time Brad pulls her out of the shower and towels her off, Claire’s exhausted, her eyes flickering shut. He rubs lotion onto her wrists with warm, gentle hands, and she’s just about ready to fall over.

She tugs one of his old t-shirts over her head; it’s soft and faded and smells like him, and she’s too tired to pretend it’s not comforting. When he climbs into bed beside her, she burrows into his side, breathing in his warmth.

“Hey Claire?” he whispers.

“Hmm?” She can’t bring herself to open her eyes.

His big hand rubs soft, soothing circles over her back. “I ever tell you you’re the best?”

She presses a soft kiss to his chest, cuddling closer. “Yeah, but I like hearing it.”

“Well, you are.”

* * *

Claire’s arms are sore the next day.

For obvious reasons.

Brad leaves early to get to work; she spends the morning doing interviews, then heads to the store for groceries, and she’s back home answering emails when her phone buzzes.

She turns away from her laptop and grabs her phone to check the text message.

_hey babe how are your arms??_

She could just text him back, but she’d rather hear his voice, so she calls him. Because Brad always answers the phone.

He picks up almost immediately. “ _Hey!”_

She decides to be honest. “I’m a little sore.”

“ _Yeah, I bet you are.”_ She can hear noises in the background; he’s at the test kitchen today, she knows, and he’s going to be careful what he says in earshot of anyone else. “ _You stopping in today?”_

Claire can’t resist. “I would, but I’m a little…tied up right now.”

He groans into the phone. “ _You’re pure evil, you know that?”_

Teasing Brad is fun. Because he always – _always_ – makes her pay for it.

“You should come over later,” she tells him. “You know. If you want.”

“ _Still got those things?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _I was thinkin’, you know.”_ He sounds too casual to really be casual. “ _Fair’s fair, right? Good for the goose, good for the other goose, or however you say it.”_

Her face gets hot. “You mean – you want to –”

“ _Let_ you _have some fun this time? Yeah.”_ She can hear the grin in his voice. “ _What d’you think?”_

(Cuffing Brad to the headboard, trailing her mouth over his chest, working him over with her hands and lips and tongue until he’s bucking underneath her, begging incoherently.)

Claire takes a deep breath.

“Sounds like fun.”


End file.
